


The Lovers We Were

by torakowalski



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-31
Updated: 2004-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:04:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know, there are some days when the simplest things are just too hard to manage.  Take waking up.  Not a problem for most people, do it every day.  But for me, today, way too hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lovers We Were

**Author's Note:**

> [I really want to give this a 'I'm sorry, I was 19, please don't judge me' warning /o\\]

You know, there are some days when the simplest things are just too hard to manage.

 

Take waking up.  Not a problem for most people, do it every day.  But for me, today, way too hard.

 

Drag eyes to half mast, but they just wanna close again.  Snooze buttons should be banned.  I gotta get up, but I can’t. 

 

Alarm goes off again.  Fingers hover over snooze before finally doing what they’re told and hitting off.  Okay, well done.  Now get up.

 

 

Damn.  Shit.  Damn.  Damn.  Damn.  Fell asleep.  Late for work.  So totally, ridiculously late for work.

 

Race through the kitchen, grab a mug, run under hot tap, slam in M&Ms, take slurp.  Gah. 

 

Forgot to add the coffee.

 

Turn around, make a grab for the instant, end up knocking the cup off the sideboard onto the ground. 

 

It smashes.  Damn. 

 

 

Give up on coffee. 

 

 

Pound down the stairs because the elevator’s obviously gonna get stuck if I go inside.

 

Out the doors, into the GTO.

 

GTO won’t start. 

 

What? 

 

The GTO _always_ starts.  She’s the one constant in my crummy life.

 

Gun the engine.  Cough, splutter.  Splutter, cough.  And she starts.  Oh thank you, God.

 

Make it one block then the clanking starts. 

 

Coughs and splutters we can deal with; clanking though, _not_ good. 

 

Give in.

 

Pull into the curb and seriously contemplate screaming.

 

Out of the car, find a taxi.  Eventually.  Pay half my pension for the ride, but finally, finally, finally, get into work.  An hour and a half late.

 

 

The bullpen is loud.  I mean it’s always loud, but today it’s _loud_.

 

Didn’t get my caffeine fix, so my head’s already killing me, this noise is _not_ going to help.

 

Glance at Welsh’s office, and oh _thank you_ ; it’s empty.

 

All I gotta do is sit at my desk and pretend like I’ve been in since just after he went where ever he’s gone.

 

 

The Duck Boys make cheering noises and tap their watches as I walk past their desks.

 

To be honest, I’m shocked they can tell the time.

 

“Hot date, Ski?”  Dewey calls.

 

I stop in front of his desk.  “Yeah,” I tell him, trying to look like I just got laid, “And great wake up sex, too.  And stop calling me Ski, my name’s too tough for you, you don’t gotta address me.”

 

“Ooh, that’s not the attitude of a happy bunny.”  Huey mocks, “I don’t think he got any.  What’s up, Ray?  Couldn’t keep it up?”

 

He’s so close to right, it’s not funny.  But then, neither’s the fact that my “date” last night was such a wash out that I’d forgotten all about it until now.

 

 

Turn to my desk, my sanctuary, my little oasis tucked away amongst the filling cabinets, my … holy _Mary_ , what’s _he_ doing here?

 

“Vecchio.”  I pick up a stack of files from the corner of my desk and drop them in the middle, right in front of his face.

 

He jumps, almost knocks over his coffee.  Where’s the justice?  If that had been me, there woulda been no almost.

 

“Jesus, Kowalski, give a guy a heart attack why don’t you?”

 

“You know I would, if I could.” I tell him sweetly.  “Now, what are you doing at my desk?”

 

“Stella needs the Henderson file, and you weren’t around.”

 

“No, I wasn’t.  So maybe _wait_?  And why can’t Stella get it herself?”

 

“Because Stella’s still in hospital.” He tells me, not bothering to look up from his hunt through my files.

 

“What?”  A hole opens up in the bottom of my stomach, and gusts of wind rip through it.  “Is she okay?”

 

“She’s fine.  They’re both fine.”

 

“Both?”  I’m not quick without my coffee, but finally pieces begin to click.  “She’s had the baby?”

 

He finally bothers to look up.  “Yes.”  God, I hate the way he’s smiling.  Like he’s the happiest man alive and everything’s going right for him.  I hate even more that that’s probably true.  “Last night.  We’re calling her Antonia Claire.”

 

A girl.  My Stella just had a baby girl. 

 

Hang on.  “Last night?  So, she was in labour yesterday?  Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

 

He blinks.  “Why do you think?  Do you remember what happened when I told you she was pregnant?”

 

No, I don’t.  I was very, very drunk.  But I remember my bruised knuckles.  And I remember his black eye and split lip.  “Wouldn’t have done that again,” I mutter.

 

It was a very bad time.  I’d been drinking a lot.  He knew, and he knew why.  But it didn’t stop him taunting me that Stella’d have his baby, but not mine.  Welsh suspended me for a week, and Stella hasn’t spoken to me since.  But I don’t drink any more.

 

I look him in the eye.  Hold out my hand.  “Congratulations.”

 

He takes it.  We shake.  Then I go to the men’s room and throw up.

 

 

The rest of the workday passes in a blur of awfulness with every minute getting progressively worse. 

 

Welsh gets back shortly after the vomit incident, rants at me for being late then tells me I look like crap and tries to send me home. 

 

No way, there’s no one and nothing at home.  If I go back, the emptiness will fill my lungs and I’ll drown.

 

Can’t stay in the station, though.  So I decide to go do some legwork on my few outstanding cases.

 

One good thing about having no life and a frozen heart and soul is that you get work done.  My solve rate’s up.  Way up.  Even higher than when …well, than before.

 

I get outside and in I’m in the carpark before I remember that legwork actually means wheel work and my wheels are one block away from my apartment.  Probably clamped by now.

 

 

Manage to convince the station they wanna loan me a car.  Takes a while, and I have to suffer a lot of ribbing about the Riv and listen while they tell new recruits how I drove a 1971 Buick Riviera into Lake Michigan during my first week here.

 

They all laugh and make me promise not to drown this one.  Looking at the heap of junk you’d think they’d _want_ someone to put it out of its misery.

 

I think I manage half a smile and to avoid looking like too miserable a sod, but I’m ready to kick some heads by the time I get to the damn car.

 

Drive three blocks … and crash into a water hydrant.

 

Holy, flying _fuck_ why does life hate me?  What did I do wrong?

 

 

Hydrant’s a bit smashed, but the car’s okay and I’m still breathin’.  Not totally sure whether I’m happy about _that_ or not.

 

My headache comes back with a vengeance and now my shoulder hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.

 

Leave a note on the hydrant saying it was martyred in the line of official police business and telling anyone who wants to to charge up the CPD.

 

 

Get my legwork done. 

 

Draw lots and lots of blanks.  No one knows the guy I’m chasing.  Even his own mother’s never heard of him.  So I go round again.

 

Interviews.  Notebook’s full of words but none of them mean anything.

 

By five my head has burst into flames and I’m so hungry my stomach is digesting itself, but I don’t have the energy to eat.

 

Instead, I drive to Lake Michigan.

 

 

 _Learn to be lonely_   
  
  
_Learn to find your way in darkness_   
  
  
_Who will be there for you_   
  
  
_Comfort and care for you_   
  
  
_Learn to be lonely_   
  
  
_Learn to be your one companion_   
  
  
_Ever dreamed out in the world_   
  
  
_There are arms to hold you?_   
  
  
_You've always known_   
  
  
_Your heart was on its own_

 _\- Minnie Driver_

 

Spend a lot of time at the Lake they call Michigan these days.  It feels good to look at the water.

 

See, it’s been there since long before any of us existed and it’ll be after we’re dead.  Nothing we do affects it all that much. 

 

Feels good to know that however much I manage to screw up my life it won’t really change anything in the long run. 

 

I don’t let myself out of the car when I’m down here. 

 

Still can’t swim and I’m scared the temptation might be too great.  Scared, see?  I don’t want to die.  But sometimes my body does things whether I tell it to or not.

 

I sit here and stare at the water.

 

Watch it splash over the side of the docks.  _Swear to God, I will punch you in the mouth_.  Shit.  No. 

 

Don’t want to think about that.  Don’t want to think about him … that. 

 

 _This is where it started, so this is where it’ll end._   He thought I meant the fight.  But I didn’t; I meant the Partnership.

 

This here, this dockyard, was where our partnership began.  When I got a dent in my Kevlar and he called me Ray.

 

 _Hit me._

 

Shit, switch off brain, switch off.

 

I thought that day was the worst of my life, but at least he was here.

 

The punch hurt, both of them.  But nothing to how much living hurts without him.

 

 

I flick the lock and put my hand on the door handle.

 

I’m tired.

 

I’m cold.

 

I’m lonely.

 

Me and the Lake will make a good pair.

 

I’ve just got to stop fighting it.  It’s not as if anyone’ll mind.

 

The station’ll get the car back eventually.

 

The Duck Boys’ll find someone else to rag.

 

Welsh’ll find someone else to yell at.

 

Mum and Dad have another son and now Stella will make them honorary grandparents to baby Antonia.

 

Hell, even the turtle’ll be better off.  He can go to Frannie.

 

And Fraser?  Well, Fraser … no, I’m just not going to think about him.  He might know why, but he probably won’t.  He thinks I’m _fine, Ben, I’m good, I’m greatness._   Such fucking greatness.

 

 

Push down on the handle, the car door swings open.  And my cell phone starts to ring.

 

What?

 

Is this a sign?

 

It could be a sign.  On the other hand, it could just be Vecchio tellin’ me to get a move on and drown already.

 

Grab the phone and check the LCD screen.  _Number not recognised_.

 

Great, a prank caller is interrupting my suicide.  You just would, wouldn’t you?

 

 

I don’t plan to answer, but I find I’m doing it anyway.  See, disobedient body.

 

“Kowalski.” Henceforth to be known as dead white male, late thirties, blue eyes, blond.

 

Unless the water quality turns it (or me) green.

 

“Hello, Ray.”

 

Oh my God.  Oh God, oh God. 

 

“Fr … Fraser?” 

 

“How are you, Ray?”

 

Just about to kill myself.  But now talking to you I’m “Good, yeah.  You?”

 

“Oh, I’m very well too, thank you.”  Gotta laugh.  That’s so Fraser.  Correcting without correcting.

 

“So, er, it’s great to hear from you.”  Oh, so damn great.

 

“And you Ray.  Ray, er, Ray Vecchio told me about the baby, I’m just calling to check you’re alright.”

 

“I’m peachy, Frase, thanks.”

 

“Where are you?”

 

Oh.  Um.  “At my apartment, where else?”

 

“Really?”

 

How does he do that?

 

“No, er, not … not really.”  Damn.  Truth must be contagious.  I coulda lied.  “I’m … at the lake.”

 

“The lake?  Ray, you must be freezing.”

 

“No, I’m …” Okay, so actually I’m pretty cold.  “Huh, hadn’t noticed.”

 

“Ray” he sounds worried “Ray, are you sure you’re alright?”

 

Shit, I want to tell him.  I want to tell him how bad I feel.  Want to tell him I’m cold and lonely and totally fucked up.  That nothing’s felt good since he left.

 

But I can’t.  Can’t lie to him either, so I stay quiet.  That makes him do the repeat my name over and over again thing.

 

Used to love making him do that.  He can do it annoyed, impatient, amused, and, my personal favourite, over and over again just before he comes.  Oh _shit_ , don’t think of that.

 

“Ray?”

 

“Yeah, yeah Frase, I’m here.”

 

“Is something wrong?”  Soft voice.  God, what I’d do for his arms around me.

 

“I …” suitable line, please step forward.  “I…”  Please?  “Guess I’m just having a bad day.”  I laugh in that humourless, half deranged way, “Shit, Frase, I’ve had a bad one hundred seventy one days.”

 

There’s silence on the other end for a moment.  Then Fraser says, very quietly.  “One hundred seventy one, Ray?”  He knows the answer, just trying to make me say it.

 

“Since you left.  Every day’s been shit since you left.”

 

Silence again. 

 

I can’t bear it.  Words come gushing out.  Words I’ve been denying for a little bit longer than one-hundred-seventy-one days.  “I miss you, Fraser.  So damn much.  Nothing’s working right any more.  I can’t sleep.  I can’t hold conversations.  Only thing that feels good is work, but Welsh thinks I’m gonna burn out, wants me to take leave.  I can’t take leave, Frase.  If I do, I won’t survive.  I can’t remember how to live.  I’m so fucked.”

 

Didn’t know I was so close to crying, but somewhere in the middle of that I broke down, and now I’m sitting and sobbing quietly.  Clutching the phone, half of me hoping he’s hung up, half hoping he never does.

 

“Oh, Ray.”  He says finally.  Sounds sad.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“How …” Sniff.  “How could I?  I’m the one made you go, I can’t ask you to come back.”

 

“You could have asked me to come back.”

 

That nearly sets me crying again.  Nearly?  Okay, what the hell, it _does_.

 

“I _can’t,_ ” I say miserably, “I meant what I said.  Chicago was killing you.  It still would.  You were only here for me; you hated the place.  I can’t ask you to be somewhere you hate.  I …” Just had an idea.  Hope to hell it’s a good one.  “Frase, can I come see you?  Just for a little while?  No pressure or anything.  I know you’ve got your own life, I just miss you so much and it’s like nothing’s ever gonna be right if I don’t see you.  I could get a plane to Inuvik, Welsh’d give me the leave.”

 

“Ray,” he’s said it about five times, but I was ignoring.  “Ray, I don’t think that would be a very good idea at the moment.”

 

Tears flood my eyes again and the lump in my throat fills my chest.  I _need_ him.  Not as a lover, though God knows much I’d like that, but I can’t expect it anymore.  I just need him as a person, need to be around him.  “I … please, Frase.  I’m not asking you to love me or anything, I just I …” Can’t finish the sentence, too choked up.

 

“Shh, Ray.  Shh.” He croons, “I just meant that flying to Inuvik wouldn’t be a good idea; I’m in Chicago, Ray.”

 

“Wh…What?”

 

“When Ray Vecchio phoned last night he told me that the christening is being brought forward to this weekend as Stella’s parents need to be back in Boston by Monday.  As I am to be Antonia’s godfather, I requested leave and arrived in Chicago this afternoon.  I’m calling from the hospital.”

 

“You’re _here_?”  I can’t make myself believe what he’s saying.  Too afraid that it’ll all go away if I think about it too long.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Can … can I see you?  Please?”  I’m not proud.  I don’t care that I’m begging.

 

“Why else do you think I called you, Ray?  I’ve missed you.”

 

Oh, thank God, I’ve missed him too.  Mean to tell him that, but what comes out is, “I love you.”

 

He goes quiet again, and I start to feel sick, sure I’ve just blown everything.  “Where exactly are you?”

 

“By the lake.”

 

“ _Where_?”  Sounds urgent.

 

“The docks.  Where um, where I hit you.”

 

“Don’t move Ray, I’m coming.”

 

 

So, I don’t move.  I sit in the car.  And I don’t move.  Hell, I don’t think I could move.

 

My stomach’s doing a salsa with the butterflies in my stomach and I can’t quite stop shivering. 

 

Don’t know how long he takes to get here.  My hands are turning white, I’m gripping the wheel so hard, and more than half of me believes I just dreamed the whole conversation.  He’s gone; he hung up.  Can’t hear him so he can’t be real.

 

I’m staring at the dashboard so hard that even when a bottle green 1971 Buick Riviera turns the corner and skid-stops beside me I don’t react.  Can’t look.  If I look, it’ll just be Vecchio. 

 

Hear the Buick’s door open and close.  Hear the crunch of gravel as feet run across it.  Hear the click and feel the gust of cold air as my door is wrenched open. 

 

“Ray!”  I don’t look up.

 

Hands grab me and pull me out of the car.  I stand, but I’m swaying so the hands don’t move away.  Just hold me.  Two large, strong hands, wrapped around my biceps, shaking me slightly.  “Ray!”

 

Can’t look, can’t look up.  The hands, the voice, the car are all part of my imagination.  If I look they’ll all go and so will the hope that he’s really here.  I’ve imagined it so many times, him coming back to me.  Why should this time be any more real than then?

 

“RAY!”  The hands shake me hard; jolt me so I rock forwards.  I’m not really part of my body at the moment, so it doesn’t occur to me to do anything about it when I loose my balance and start to fall.

 

The hands tighten, stop me falling.  Then arms wrap around me and pull me close.

 

“Ray,” he whispers against my ear “I love you too; come back to me.”

 

Lips press against mine and, even though it’s on its own at the moment, my mouth isn’t stupid and starts to kiss back.  A hot tongue slides between my lips until they get the message and open up.

 

And, then it’s not lips against mine; it’s Benton Fraser’s lips.  And it’s not tongue sliding in and out of my mouth, tracing a line across my teeth; it’s Benton Fraser’s tongue.

 

I gasp out a half laugh, half sob and pull away.  Not too far, just far enough to see him.  And I look.  And I keep looking.  At Corporal Benton Fraser, RCMP.

 

And I learn something I already suspected.  The man I’ve loved for over three years, the man who loved me back for nearly a year, the man I sent away six months ago is the most beautiful man on the planet. 

 

I lift my hand and run the back of my fingers along his cheek.  “God,” I breathe making him smile.

 

He’s here.  He’s here.  He kissed me.  He said me loves me.  It’s incredible.

 

Unfortunately, I still feel crap.  Standing up is making my head spin.  Darkness is swirling around inside my head and little white lights are twinkling against my eyelids.

 

“Ray?”  He sounds worried again, and I can feel his hands tightening.

 

“Hang on,” I lean forwards and put my head on his shoulder.  “Feel a bit odd.” 

 

My knees buckle.

 

“Ray!”  He tightens his arms around me, lowers me down to the ground.  I lean my head back against the car, but he pushes it forwards so it’s between my knees.

 

Fraser squats beside me, holds one of my hands.  “Are you sick?” he asks gently.

 

Shake my head, No, but that makes me feel like I’m gonna puke.  I groan.  “Don’t think so.” I manage.

 

“When did you last eat?”  Same gentle voice.

 

“I…” Try to raise my head, but feel my eyes roll back, and let him push my head back down.  “Don’t really know.  Don’t really eat much.”

 

He sits down beside me, slides me over so I’m leaning against him and puts his arms back around me.  Lay my head half on his chest, half on his shoulder and close my eyes as he kisses my cheek, then my ear, then my hair.

 

“How did you let yourself get into this state?”  He asks, carding his fingers through my hair. 

 

Decide to pretend it’s the hair he’s talking about, cos I don’t really feel up to talking about anything else.  “Yeah, I know.  It needs cutting and colouring and I need to get some more gel.  Things just kind of got away from me.”

 

“Your hair is depressed.”  He tells me seriously, dragging his fingers through it, and trying to make it stand on end.  Damn stuff really does need cutting cos it bends in the middle like a blade of grass and collapses.

 

“Yeah…” I start, but he interrupts.

 

“You are depressed,” he says quietly.

 

I snuggle closer, risk letting my head up to kiss his jaw.  “Not any more.”

 

“Ray,” he shifts back, holds me up so I’m away from him.

 

“What?”  Feel dizzy again, “You said you loved me.  You … I won’t be depressed if you love me.”

 

“God, Ray” Fraser looks really serious and I’ve never heard him blaspheme before.  “I _do_ love you, heaven knows how much, but I cannot be the only reason you take care of yourself.  From what Ray Vecchio tells me, you’re been depressed, drinking too much, chasing after criminals with no thought to your own safety.  That’s not good, Ray.  That sort of behaviour will eventually get you killed.”

 

Can’t really argue with that.  “I know.”  Small, small voice.

 

He draws me back into his embrace, and I wrap my arms around him, inhaling his smell. 

 

“I can’t be the reason you live or die.” He says quietly.  “I love you, I’m not going to let you push me away again, but you need to live for yourself, not for me.”

 

“I know that,” Pull myself back this time, look him in the eyes.  “I honestly do know that.  I know I’ve been acting up, but it felt like once you were gone there was no point.  I was so fucking angry with myself for sending you away.  I was lonely and no matter what I did everything seemed to go to hell.  I guess I just need a … an anchor or something.  Like a starting point I can work my way out from, but something to give me a base, a connection to real life.”  I blush “That kind of doesn’t make sense, I know … I …”

 

“Shh.”  He covers my mouth with his, kisses me deeply.  Mouth hot and open.

 

He’s got his hands on my back, one on the dip just above my ass and one between my shoulder blades and he’s pushing me against him, hard, like he’s trying to shove me down his throat.  Got no quarrel with that, and while all of me may not fit, my tongue’s more that happy to give it a go.

 

“Ray,” He pulls his mouth away to speak, but my lips still want to be kissed.  I worry his bottom lip with my teeth.  Strangely though, this seems to be a distraction.  He says my name again, and it comes out like a moan though I think it’s supposed to be a plea.  I take pity.  Kiss his lips, his chin, his throat, then sit back and let him say whatever’s so important he’d stop kissing to say it.  Don’t get me wrong, I know Fraser likes sex, loves it in fact, but kissing’s his thing.  His favourite.  His mouth is his hottest hot spot.

 

“Ray,” I adopt a listening pose, “May I please be your anchor?”

 

I almost laugh, cos hell, who else could I o’ been talking about?  And because those words felt stupid coming out of my mouth and repeated they sound like dialogue from a bad teen-drama.  But now, looking up I see the nervousness in his eyes, the sudden shyness of his smile and realise that he’s not just playing off my words, he’s asking something more.  He’s asking to be my foundation, my … hell, I guess my home.  He’s asking me to trust him with myself, and when you think about it that way, it’s not cheesy, it’s fucking romantic.

 

I grin at him.  “That’d be really cool.”

 

We do some more of the hot, hot, hot kissing, but after not nearly long enough he pulls away.  “It’s getting cold.”  He says, stripping off his long leather jacket and making me put it on.

 

I try to object, but get a glare.  “It’s getting cold, and you’re ill.”  He holds out his hands, and I let him brace me to my feet.

 

“I’m not ill,” I protest, proving it half a second later when I go light headed and sway into him. 

 

He supports me again while I blink away the black fog.  My head clears in time to hear him say, “…undernourished, probably dehydrated.”

 

“Not as bad as that.  It’s not like I’ve been starving myself, I just haven’t been able to eat.”

 

That gets me worried look #20.  “I thought you said you weren’t hungry, not that you _couldn’t_ eat?”

 

“Yeah, well.”  I shrug.  “I _am_ hungry, but then when I go near food, I wanna throw up, so I guess by then I’m not hungry.”

 

“I’d like you to see a doctor.”

 

“No, no, no, no, no.  Uhuh.  No way.  Nada.”  That’s about as emphatically as I can convey that negative.  “I’m not sick, Frase.  There’s nothing actually wrong with me.  It’s all in my head, so let me deal with it without doctors.  Please.  I feel good now, I swear.  I feel like I could eat.  Let’s get me some food.  I’ll let you feed me whatever you want to renourish me, just please, no doctors.”

 

He looks unconvinced, but I look pleading and that must score more points in the Canadian Olympics cos eventually he agrees, “But I want to see how you are in a day or so.  I agree that a doctor may not be necessary at the moment, but I’m not letting you become ill.”

 

That gets me slightly mad.  Not very, not enough to risk him taking his hugs away, but slightly.  “Jesus, Frase.  I’m not deliberately starving myself.  I just felt crap so my stomach went hinky.  It’s always happened with me.  Always since forever.  I feel better now, so it’ll be better now.”

 

He tuts, “You’re too thin.”

 

I smirk at him.  “Thought you liked me skinny?”  I say with a wink, thinking of all the times he traced my ribs with his hand or tongue, and, one memorable time, something else entirely.

 

He blushes, “I like you however you are, Ray.  But I also like you healthy.”

 

“Gonna try, Ben  I swear.”  I mean it, I’ve got him back, I want to live to enjoy it.

 

 

He leads me over to the Buick and we drive away from the docks.  At some point, I’ll call the station and let ‘em know where their car is. 

 

Hey, they can’t complain, they told me not to drive _into_ the lake, and I didn’t.  What more can they want?

 

For some reason, Fraser drives the Buick a bit better than he ever drove the GTO.  His foot actually exerts pressure on the gas and I think we may go over the recommended speed limit.  But at least point five miles per hour.  Wow.

 

I wouldn’t call it style, but at least it ain’t anti-style.

 

 

We drive for about 20 minutes then Fraser pulls to a stop outside a bar that looks really kinda familiar, though I can’t remember why.

 

Walking inside, doing my best not to sway cos being in public means Fraser can’t keep an arm round me, I remember _why_ the place looks familiar.

 

It’s the bar Fraser took me to last time I was suicidally depressed. 

 

Same dark lighting, modern furniture.  Same bartender.  He’s still skinny and bald.  He still looks like one of the humanoid aliens from Men and Black, and, if I ask, he’ll probably still have some of that despondency stuff lingering around.  Not planning on asking though, that stuff tastes foul. 

 

He recognises us, which is a nice little ego trip as it’s nearly two years since the Botrelle thing.

 

“Constable Fraser, Detective Vecchio!”  He cries, hurrying over.

 

Fraser greats him with a polite “Charlie.”  Figures he’d know the guy’s name.

 

My contribution is a grunted, “Kowalski.”

 

Barguy … Charlie frowns, “Excuse me?”

 

“Kowalski, not Vecchio.”  I tell him shortly, don’t have the energy to go into it.  Hey, so sue me, I’m tied and he’s looking at Ben like he’s dinner.

 

“Sure,” He shrugs and that’s that.  Looking at the place, I’m guessing he gets quite a few customers needin’ to change their names … suppose most of ‘em ain’t cops though.

 

“So, what can I do for you, today?”

 

What the hell.  “You got any of that despondency?”

 

Fraser glances at me, then says to Charlie, “We’re here for a meal, actually.”

 

That excites him, guess not many people want to eat his food, well, looking at him, you just wouldn’t, would you?

 

“Certainly, certainly.  Table for two, coming up.”  He starts to lead us towards a table in the centre of the seating area, possibly the same one we were at before, but while Fraser starts to follow, managing to get the whole one foot in front of the other thing down fairly well, I take one step and another burst of dizziness rushes up on me. 

 

I hear an exclamation and before I can black out completely I find myself once again in Fraser’s arms and a second later I’m being lowered into a chair and my head is again between my knees.  Hey, with a bit more practise I really will be able to kiss my …

 

“Are you alright?”  Alien-barguy-Charlie interrupts my mental rambling. 

 

“Detective Kowalski hasn’t been feeling well, would you mind fetching some water?”

 

I hear Charlie disappear and risk a glance up at Fraser; he’s crouched in front of me looking worried.  I manage a smile now the dizziness is passing. 

 

“Sorry.”

 

He doesn’t stop looking grim.  “I want you to see a doctor, Ray.”

 

“I’m okay.”

 

“Ray, in the past hour and a half you have almost fainted three times.  That is not ‘okay’.”

 

I’m saved having to argue by Charlie who bursts over with a glass of water and two menus. 

 

I take the drink and sip it even though I’m feeling better.  I want Ben to stop looking like he is.  He doesn’t stop looking worried, but he does move away and sit at the other side of the table. 

 

I don’t bother looking at the menu, cos we both know he’s going to be ordering for me, which he does.  Either I’ve zoned out majorly or Superman is moonlighting in the kitchen, cos the food arrives before I can blink.

 

I’ve got salad, boiled potatoes, roast chicken, peas and carrots.  There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to manage all this, but when I look up to tell Ben that, I see the worry and the love in his eyes and swallow my protest along with a mouthful of chicken. 

 

“Thanks, Ben.”  I reach out and squeeze his hand.

 

He doesn’t ask what for, just squeezes back and nods towards my dinner. 

 

After another two bites of dinner, I realise two very important things.  One, this is absolutely fantastic grub.  Two, I am really fucking hungry. 

 

The food goes quickly and Ben beams at me.  I’d eat glass for that smile. 

 

“Desert?” He asks.

 

I shake my head apologetically.  “I can’t, I’m stuffed.  Sorry.”

 

I get my hand squeezed again.  “You don’t need to eat more than you want, Ray.  I just don’t want you to fade away.”

 

I laugh.  “My mum used to say she’d be able to carry me round on a fork if I didn’t eat more.  Freaked me out, I though she meant she’d skewer me on the prongs.”

 

He laughs too, “I can imagine why that would worry you, it is rather a dark saying.”

 

“Says the man who brought us Lou Skagnetti.”

 

We share a smile into each other’s eyes and I find I can’t look away.  His eyes are endless.  I could live in them forever and never feel alone again.  I feel the emotions build up between us, and force myself to look away.  This would be a bad place for the conversation we need to have. 

 

“Where’s Dief?”

 

Fraser blinks and I get the feeling he was as lost in my eyes as I was in his.  Makes me happy.  “Um … I left him with Maggie.  There didn’t seem to be much point putting him through quarantine for such a brief trip.”

 

“Brief?” Shit, happy feeling all gone, bye bye.  “How brief?”

 

“My leave extends until Sunday.  I’m expected back in Inuvik in time for my shift on Monday morning.”

 

My eyes drop, I have to bite my tongue.  Today’s Thursday. 

 

“Ray.  Ray.  Ray.”  Finally make myself look up.  “I can extend my leave.”

 

Can’t ask him to do that.  Can’t ask him to go either, not again.  “Can we go home, Ben?” I say instead.

 

He nods, so we get up and pay Charlie.  Don’t know what he thinks of us, don’t particularly care.  I get the feeling he wouldn’t mind being the one holding Ben’s hand across the table, though. 

 

“Feel better.” He says to me as we leave. 

 

I grin, “Thanks, I already do.” And I do.  Not sure if it’s the food though, got a feeling it’s more to do with the Mountie.

 

 

We climb back into the Buick, and this time I’m alert enough to realise something.  “Hey, how come Vecchio let you take the car?  Didn’t think he’d ever let you near it again.”

 

“Ray Vecchio is a reasonable man,” Ben tells me tartly with an almost straight face.  “I’m sure he understands that his past three Buick Rivieras have been sacrificed for the greater goal of justice.”

 

I snort.  “What did you tell him about why you needed it?”

 

He shoots a glance across at me, as he starts the engine and we pull away from the curb.  “Simply that a friend was in trouble and I needed to borrow his car.  He told me I could keep it until tomorrow if I needed to.” 

 

“Wow, you sure it was Vecchio you were talking to?”

 

“Ray is a very kind man.”  My Ben says seriously, “You and he simply got off on the wrong foot.”

 

“And never managed to get on the right one.”

 

He purses his lips and doesn’t say anything.  I know it hurt him when we got back from our adventure and Vecchio and I couldn’t stop sniping at each other.  It’s hard when your boyfriend and your best-friend can’t stand each other.  I did try with Vecchio, probably not as hard as I should have done, but some.  Vecchio, however, just hates me.  Think it would have been better if we hadn’t told him about us, but Ben didn’t want to lie to him even by omission. 

 

“What’s the baby look like?”  I ask, trying to distract myself from my own memories.

 

Mr Do-You-Know-How-Many-Traffic-Laws-You-Just-Violated actually takes his eyes off the road to look at me. “A little like Stella.”

 

I smile to hide the lump that I’ve suddenly got in my throat, but he sees it anyway.

 

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

I squeeze his thigh, mainly to reassure him, but partly cos I just want to touch him.  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

 

He puts his hand on mine for a moment before putting it back on the steering wheel like the good Boy Scout he is.

 

I leave my hand where it is all the way home.

 

 

It feels weird walking up the stairs to my apartment with Fraser.  Hell, it feels weird walking up the stairs with a spring in my step.

 

Feels even weirder once we get inside.  I don’t know what to say to him or where we stand.  The place is a mess, but he must still be able to see how I’ve cleared away every trace of him away.  This place used to be _ours_ , and I couldn’t stand any memories, so I took away his photos, threw out everything we’d bought together, even repainted the kitchen we’d spent all of one weekend decorating. 

 

“Would you like something to drink?” I ask cos I can’t think of anything else to say.

 

“No, thank you.” He says, all polite. 

 

Oh.  “Well, er, what would you like to do?”  I’m smooth.

 

“Could we just talk?”

 

“Sure,” I look round at the sofa; it’s covered in weeks old newspapers and magazines and the coffee table in front’s got about a month’s worth of washing up. 

 

He’s sees where I’m looking, “We could talk in the bedroom, Ray.  It doesn’t have to be the prelude to anything else.”  He blushes.

 

“’Kay.”  I reach down, take his hand, and we walk across the apartment to what was once our bedroom.

 

 

 _I can't believe_

 _We're talking again_

[   
_Moving_   
](http://www.ntsearch.com/search.php?q=Moving&v=56)   
_in nearer_

 _Touching your hand_

 _Pulling you close again_

 _Holding you tight_

 _All those regrets_

 _Those missing nights_

 _-_ _Michael Ball_

 

Bedroom’s not so bad.  Bed needs making and it’s a bit messy, but otherwise okay.  Not actively dirty.

 

I bend down to pick up some discarded laundry and by the time I’ve shoved it in the hamper he’s re-made the bed.  Clean sheets and everything. 

 

“You didn’t have to …” I start, but he interrupts. 

 

“I know,” he sits down and pats the bed beside him. 

 

I go willingly, sit down next to him and I immediately want to stand up again.  This is awkward.  I’m nervous.  Hell, I think _he’s_ nervous.

 

“Ray,”

 

“Ben,”

 

We both start at the same time. 

 

“You first.”  Again, simultaneous. 

 

I laugh and put my hand over his mouth.  “ _You_ first.” I say firmly, loving the way his lips feel like moist silk against my palm. 

 

“Thank you,” he says, once I’ve removed my hand.  “I was just going to ask why you didn’t tell me you were unhappy.  You knew I would have come back.”  He’s trying not to sound like he’s mad, but I think he is.

 

“I know.  I knew.  That’s why I couldn’t tell you.  I knew you’d come back and I couldn’t bear to see you for a few days and have to watch you go away again.  And anyway, I’m the one sent you away, what right did I have to ask you to come back?”

 

He looks shocked, “Ray, you have to know I would never be petty enough to hold that against you.  If you’d asked for my help I would have come immediately, I wouldn’t have refused you just because no longer wished to be with me.”

 

 _No longer wished.  What?_   “Ben!”  I grab his hand.  “Ben, you know why I made you go, don’t you?” I ask desperately.  “You know it’s because you were miserable and I couldn’t watch you fade away.  You know that, right?”

 

He won’t meet my eyes, “I know that’s part of the reason…”

 

“No!”  I grip his shoulders, shake him a little so he looks at me, “No!  Shit, Ben.  Why didn’t you …” I slap my forehead hard over and over until he grabs my hand and holds it in his own.  “It wasn’t just a handy excuse to get rid of you cos I got bored.  You were so miserable here, worse than before the Muldoon thing.  Our adventure reminded you how much you loved Canada and you were falling apart down here.  Then Vecchio and Stella left on their jaunt to Florida and I knew you were only here for me, and I couldn’t have that.”  I will him to believe me.  “I never got bored.  I never stopped loving you.”

 

He doesn’t speak, but I think he understands.  He squeezes my hand tight between his thick, strong fingers, then releases it to place his hand on my arm and pull me toward him.  I use my grip on his shoulder to pull him closer too.  And then we’re kissing. 

 

Different from back at the docks.  Still hot, still desperate, but less afraid, more confident that we’re not going to get ripped apart again any second.

 

He groans and slides his hand down my back ending up on my hips.  I wriggle closer, slide so I’m pretty much on his lip.  Then I wrap my arms around his neck and cling on. 

 

His tongue is mapping out my teeth as if he expects them to have changed in the last six months.  My tongue wants to dance, so I lick my way into his mouth and slick them together.

 

He grips me tighter, pulls me closer and my tongue gets that dance.

 

He’s turning me on in a serious way.  Not just the kissing, though that’s fucking hot, but everything about him.  His taste, his smell, his feel, his existence.  Everything that comes together to say that, yep, don’t know how I did it, but I got the Mountie back in my arms. 

 

Hmm, in my arms.  And on my bed.  I unwrap one of my arms and slide it under his shirt, skim my hand up his chest and carefully stroke his nipple.

 

He hisses and I come within an inch of getting my tongue bitten off, but then he reaches under his shirt and gently removes my hand.  “Not now,” he breathes against my mouth. 

 

“What?”  I pull back, frightened.  How did I read this wrong?  “I thought … I thought we were back?” Shit, I sound like a girl.

 

“We are,” He kisses my mouth lightly, then sits back.  “We _are_ ,” he repeats, stroking my jaw line, back and forth.  “At least, I hope we are.  But I want to make love to you, Ray.”

 

“Yeah,” I wriggle against him.  “That’s what I want too.”

 

For some reason, that gets me kissed again, but when he pulls back this time he explains.  “I mean I want to _make love_ to you.  I want to do it slowly.  But I’m tired, and you’re tired.  If we do anything now it will just be sex, and I care about you too much for that.”

 

Wow.  “Knew there was a reason I love you.”  I say, kissing his neck.

 

He laughs, and pulls me into his arms.  This time, I am on his lap but neither of us seems to mind.

 

 

We stay like that for a long while, me sitting on Ben’s lap, cradled in his arms, my arms around his neck and my head pressed into his shoulder. 

 

Every now and then I’ll kiss his shoulder or the skin behind his ear, or he’ll pet my hair but other than that we don’t really stir. 

 

I think I must have dozed off cos I suddenly realise that he’s moving under me trying to untangle us without waking me.

 

Still mostly asleep, I freak out and grab his arm.  “Don’t go.”  I plead.

 

“Shh.”  He gets free and carefully lowers me onto the bed.  “I’m just going to call Ray Vecchio and tell him his car’s safe.  Go back to sleep.”

 

“Come back?”

 

“Of course.” He kisses my forehead and pads softly out of the room.

 

The bed’s comfy and I stretch, slithering up so I’m lying on it properly.  I snuggle back down into the duvet and as I fall asleep I know I’ve got a dopey grin on my face.

 

 

Next time I wake up, Ben’s back and trying to unbuckle my belt.  Hell, yeah!

 

“Hey, Frase.”  My voice is croaky so I must have been asleep a while, wonder what he and Vecchio had to talk about.  “Unless you’ve rethought the whole no-sex thing you might not want to be doing that.”

 

He laughs, “I think I can cope, thank you.”

 

I grin, “Yeah, but can I?”

 

He runs his hand gently over the front of my boxers as he pulls my jeans off.  “Nothing that can’t wait until morning.”

 

I scowl.  “Tease.  What took you so long?”  I ask as he kneels beside me and unbuttons my shirt.

 

“Ray and I had a lot to talk about.”  He says quietly as he pulls my shirt off.

 

“Vecchio didn’t give you shit did he?”  I demand, “About us, I mean.”

 

“No, darling.”  He brushes my hair off my face, and stands up to quickly shuck of his own clothes.

 

“So why are you all frowny?”

 

He finishes folding up his jeans, lays them on the dresser and comes back to stand by the bed.  God, but he’s beautiful.  “We had a few things to discuss.”

 

Stones bleed like stuck pigs compared to Benton Fraser.  “You said.”

 

He sits on the bed beside me, and caresses my face.  His hands and eyes are so tender I feel myself begin to melt.  “I needed to find out why he hadn’t been taking care of you.”

 

“What?!” I try to sit up, but he pushes me back down.  “It isn’t up to him to take care of me.  My life is none of his business.”

 

“Ordinarily no,” He pacifies “But when one of his co-workers becomes obviously depressed you would expect him to take an interest.  Especially when you are the person who kept his life safe while he was undercover, and especially when he knows how important you are to me.”

 

His eyes glint and his mouth is hard.  He’s clearly really pissed at Vecchio, and weirdly I find I don’t want him to be. 

 

“Ben,” I raise my arms and gently pull him down into bed, “It wasn’t his fault.  The only things he and I have in common are you and Stella.  He’s married to my ex, I’m in love with his best-friend, we’re not exactly ever gonna be pally.”

 

“That’s no excuse for jeopardising your health.”  The hard edge is softening slightly now, he’s got his head on my chest and I’m running my fingers through his hair. 

 

“I pushed him away.  I wouldn’t’ve let him get close, even if he’d wanted to.  And I did punch him.”

 

“Yes, he told me.”

 

“I was ratted.”  I confess quietly, “It was eleven in the morningon my day off and I’d already drunk most of a bottle of vodka.”

 

“He told me that, too.”

 

I swivel around so I’m looking down at him, “Don’t you think him telling you counts as looking out for me?  He couldn’t do anything so he told you.”

 

“Yes, but that happened months ago and he only told me about it today.”

 

“But he still told you.  If he hadn’t you might not have ‘phoned and then …” I stop abruptly.  Not sure he knows what he interrupted down at the docks.  Not sure I want to tell him.

 

“Then what?”  He asks curiously.  When I don’t answer, his expression turns serious.  “Then what, Ray?”

 

“Nothin’” I mutter, looking down at the sheets.  He chose the black cotton ones, I notice, they were always my favourites, Stella hated them. 

 

He pulls out of my arms and sits up so our faces are level, “Ray.  _Ray_.”  Reluctantly I meet his eyes, “Why were you at the docks?”

 

“I was having a bad day,” I mumble. 

 

“Yes, but why were you at the docks?”  I can hear the fear in his voice and I hate that I put it there.

 

“I …” My voice breaks and I sniff.  “I was going to walk to the edge of the docks and keep walking.”

 

He freezes and I’m too scared to say anything else.  Then I find myself pushed down flat on the bed, wrapped in warm, strong Mountie arms, and hot, wet kisses are smacking down all over my face. 

 

“Never do that,” he whispers in between kisses, “Never think you can’t cope.  We can cope with anything.  Never leave me.”

 

I cling to him.  “S…Sorry.” I’m not exactly crying, but I’m not exactly not.  I know not all the wetness on my face is his saliva.  But he kisses away the salt as well as my fears. 

 

“I love you.”  He tells me fiercely, and then captures my mouth kissing me long and powerfully.

 

I’m going light-headed again, but this time it has nothing to do with lack of food and everything to do with breath stealing kisses.  But again, he stops the kisses too soon.  He leans over me and switches off the light, then pulls me back into his arms.

 

“I love you.”  Ben says, softly this time.

 

“I love you, too.”  I whisper snuggling into his embrace.

 

He kisses my temple.  “Go to sleep, Ray.”

 

 

We sleep for a long time.  Don’t know why I’m so tired; sleep’s been the one thing I haven’t had any trouble doing lately. 

 

I don’t sleep through.  Every few hours I’ll wake up, just to check Ben’s still there, I guess.  I know he will be, he promised, but it’s nice to wake up snug and warm in his arms, kiss him and drift back to sleep.

 

The next time I wake up, it’s just getting light and there’s pale white sunlight drifting in through a gap in the curtains.  I shift and feel Ben’s arms tighten around me.  Blinking up at him, I see that he’s awake and watching me.

 

“Hey,” I rasp, stretching.

 

“Hi,” he agrees, catching my hands as I stretch them above my head and holding them still.

 

“You promised me morning sex.”  I remind him.

 

He tries to look innocent, but it doesn’t work cos he’s flushed and his eyes are darkening, not to mention the fact that my arms are still pinned above my head.  “Did I?”

 

“Uhuh.  Co’mere.”

 

He laughs and slides down on top of me.  Releasing my hands, he gently cups my face and kisses me tenderly.  The man’s incredible, he doesn’t even have morning mouth. 

 

The kiss deepens and he straddles me.  He’s hard behind his cotton boxers and I gasp when he brushes me. 

 

“Make love to me, Ben.”  I plead, touching his hardness with my fingertips, making him groan.

 

He swoops down, kissing my neck as lovingly as any vampire, before trailing kisses down my body. 

 

Reaching my belly, Ben carefully tongue-fucks my belly-button before sliding my boxers off and swallowing me down whole. 

 

I nearly scream, I do choke out a gasp.  His hands on my hips sooth me. 

 

“Shh.” He hums around me and I moan.

 

His mouth is everywhere down there, alternating between my cock and my hole.  He works me hard, sucking and tonguing and stroking ‘til I’m seconds away from coming my brains out.  Then he stops.  Pulls away, pushes my legs further apart, and strips off his own boxers.  Even though I know what’s coming I still complain at the loss of contact. 

 

He shuts me up the best way possible, by sliding inside me.

 

This time I do scream.  He thrusts, and then I’m coming all over the place, harder and longer than I’ve done in forever. 

 

Ben stays still inside me while I come, just strokes my skin and tells me he loves me.

 

When I manage to climb back inside my brain the only thing I can do is reach up, pull him down to my mouth and kiss him with everything I have left.

 

He starts to thrusts again.  Slowly.  Almost every stroke hits my prostate, but I’m too spent at the moment for that to cause anything more than a fuzzy spark in my belly.  Anyway, this is Ben’s time.

 

He moves in me slowly, rhythmically, thrusting deep and confidently, but not even close to rough.  This is how he likes it, says it feels more like loving than fucking this way.  Though of course, he won’t say the f-word. 

 

I let him set the rhythm then begin to move my hips in counter point squeezing a little around him at the climax of each thrust. 

 

He chokes and his rhythm stutters, then he thrusts wildly before coming hard inside me. 

 

His arms give way and he slumps down on top of me, knocking the air from my lungs, but I really don’t care.  Hell, I don’t care if we stay like this forever.  I feel complete and cared for and safe.

 

Eventually, he pulls out of me, making me whimper at the empty feeling, but he wraps his body tight around me and kisses my hair ‘til we fall asleep.

 

 

I’m ripped out of a really good dream, one that’s basically a re-run of what just happened with a few role reversals, by a repetitive, piercing beeping.  Takes me three swipes at my alarm to work out that the noise is actually my cell ringing. 

 

“Wha’?”  I’m coherent after sleep.

 

“Morning Stanley, let me talk to Benny would you?”  Hmm.  Thought Vecchio only pissed me off due to Fraser-deprivation, but it turns out the guy just bugs me. 

 

“Hang on.”

 

I roll over, find Ben’s already awake and shove the phone at him with a mumbled “Vecchio.”

 

Ben takes it and moves as if about to get out of bed.  Nuhuh.  Not on my watch. 

 

I let him sit up and then wrap my arms around his waist and pillow my head on his thighs.  Fraser’s not the only one in this relationship who can double as an anchor. 

 

“Good morning, Ray.”  He says into the phone, combing his fingers through my hair. 

 

Don’t bother to listen to the rest of the call; if it’s interesting, Ben will tell me later.  Just wallow ‘til he hangs up, watching the way the fine, dark hairs on his thighs sway when I blow on them.  That makes me think of a whole different type of blowing, but I’m not evil enough to do that to him while he’s trying to make nice with Vecchio. 

 

“Okay Ray, bye.”  He hangs up the phone.

 

“What did Laughing Boy want?”  I ask, crawling up his body and kissing him. 

 

“ _Ray_ would like his car back.”  He chides softly before returning the kiss, with interest. 

 

“Nah,” I straddle him and push him back against the pillows, “We got _much_ better things to do.”

 

He lets us kiss for a while, then Mountie-Propriety takes over.  “I have to take the car back,” he says, batting me away gently.  “Ray was very generous letting us borrow it, but now he needs it back.”

 

“Hmph.”  I sigh, collapsing down on top of him for one quick snuggle before rolling out of bed and offering him my hand.  “C’mon then.  Pitter-patter.”

 

He blinks, but lets me pull him up,  “You don’t have to come, Ray.”

 

I shrug, “Yeah, but I wanna.”

 

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

 

“I promise I won’t pop Vecchio, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

Ben stills, sitting on the side of the bed.  “I was actually thinking about Stella.”  He tells me seriously.  “Are you sure you want to see her with another man’s child?”

 

“You bet I do,” I promise, choosing my cockiest grin.  “The idea of Stella with a kid is the second funniest I’ve ever heard.  Beaten only by the idea of Vecchio with one.”

 

He’s confused.  “I’m confused.”  See!

 

“Just picture it, Ben.”  I say, taking his hand “Detective and Mrs Armani with baby-puke and dirty nappies all over their designer suits and leather furniture.  Imagine being a fly on the wall ‘til they get used to it.”

 

“But,” He shakes his head, clearly not getting it.  “I thought _you_ wanted children with Stella.  I thought that was one of the main reasons for your divorce.”

 

“I didn’t want kids with Stella.”

 

“No?”

 

“No.  I wanted kids with my wife.”

 

His expression still says, _huh?_ so I explain. 

 

“The Stella I fell in love with would have been incredible with kids.  She hated all the pretentious crap that her parents were in to.  She ripped and cut up all the designer clothes they gave her.  She was more punk than I was.

 

“Then she changed.  She couldn’t be a lawyer with ripped jeans and blue hair so she started dressing respectably.  But, it was all an act; she was still my girl underneath.  Then, suddenly, she wasn’t. Dolce, Prada, Armani weren’t just labels to fool her bosses, they were what she _wanted_ to wear.  I think that was when I lost her.  It was also exactly the moment I started wanting her to have my baby.

 

“She was my _wife_ , I wanted her to have my kid.  I knew I was loosing her, but I thought a kid would bring us together.”

 

“Not an uncommon reason for conception.”  Ben points out. 

 

“No, but a damn lousy one.”

 

“You think Ray and Stella will be unable to cope with their child?”  Ben asks, looking alarmed.

 

“Oh, hey, no.”  I tell him quick, “They’ll cope, no question.  But it’s gonna screw up their lifestyle something awful.  And that is gonna be priceless to watch.”

 

Ben shoots me a look that’s half shocked, half amused.  “You are an evil man, Ray Kowalski.”

 

I kiss him hard.  “Must be why you love me.”  I tell him when I’ve pulled back. 

 

He blinks, a little dazed.  “Undoubtedly.” 

 

“Come on.”  I tug on his hand.  “Shower then Vecchio.”

 

 

Turns out the actual plan is shower; get dizzy; be made to eat a breakfast bigger than my normal weekly intake; _then_ Vecchio.

 

Stella and baby Antonia are in a private room on the fifth floor.  The kid – who I think I’m gonna start calling Toni just to piss her old man off – was three weeks early so they’re keeping them in for a few days rather than chucking them onto the streets the minute the baby has a belly-button like they normally do.  Ben’s promised me that there aren’t any real problems though.  Hell, I was three weeks early and I don’t have any problems.  Well, no development ones.

 

Apparently, Vecchio slept in the hospital last night, which is why he let Ben run off with his baby … his other baby … his _car_ , okay?  Jeez.

 

They’re up and about (apart from Toni) when Ben and I get to Stella’s room.  Ben gets a huge hug from Vecchio despite only having seen him yesterday.  I think the guy’s happy to be a dad.  Stella even manages to look pleased to see Ben even though she’s never really liked him all that much. 

 

My greeting’s not as warm, but it’s a hell of a lot better than I was expecting.  Vecchio shoots me a grin and a wink that for no reason makes me blush.  Stella does a triple take at me being there, then she factors in Ben and her eyes go huge.

 

She knew about us the first time round, all the Vecchios did.  The problem is, while I told Frannie and Ben told Vecchio, neither of us told Stella and she had to learn it from her new husband.  My Stella hates being out of the loop.

 

“Ray!”  She says, and to be honest it’s a relief she’s actually speaking to me.  There’s been a stony silence broken by occasional yelling since I clocked her husband.  She smiles and, for the first time in ten years, I don’t feel like mould around her.  “It’s good to see you.”

 

I glance at Ben, who smiles, then I cross the room and bend to sit beside her.  She leans up a bit so I drop a kiss on her forehead.  “How you doing with my Henderson files?”

 

She bursts out laughing, “You surely didn’t expect me to loose a day’s work, did you?”  She asks, pretending to be shocked.

 

“Over something as insignificant as child-birth?  Never.”

 

We share a smile and I feel a twinge of something, regret … nostalgia … something like that.  Something that wishes it _was_ my kid she’d had.  Then I glance up, see Ben, and feel the twinge melt away, whatever it was.

 

By rights of being godfather, Ben’s allowed to hold Antonia pretty much whenever he wants.  And att the moment he wants.  He holds her in the crook of his arm, snug against his chest.  He’s so big against her – or she’s so small against him – that it’s almost as if they shouldn’t exist in the same time and space.

 

“Ray,” he walks over carefully and pulls back the fluffy pink blankets she bundled up in, so I can see her face.  “Look.”

 

She’s beautiful.  Really beautiful.  Tiny, pink and scrubbed.  There’s a blanket of bond fluff across her head and her eyes are half open and squinting at me.  They’re blue.  Like Stella’s.

 

“God,” I breathe.  I reach out my hand and carefully touch hers.  Her whole hand is the size of my thumbnail, but when her five tiny fingers wrap around one of mine her grip’s something else.

 

I laugh.  “Wow, Vecchio.  You’ve got a sportstar here.  This kid should take up baseball.”

 

He laughs too, “Nah, that girl’s gonna be a champion hockey player.”

 

“Anything but curling,” I quip. 

 

We both laugh, Ben mutters an offended “Hey!”  And that’s just too weird.  Vecchio and I are ganging up to tease Fraser.  If we’re not careful we’ll be bonding. 

 

When the laughter’s over, Ben shifts Antonia a little and extends his arms to me.  “Do you want to take her?”

 

I step back instinctively.  “Um, no.  No, no.  That’s cool.  That’s fine …” I don’t trust myself with something that precious. 

 

I know Ben sees my doubt, cos he frowns, but doesn’t press it. 

 

Stella either doesn’t see, or chooses to ignore it.  “Go on, Ray.  She won’t break.”

 

“I…” Before I can find a reason why not, Ben’s advanced on me and is gently transferring the baby into my arms. 

 

“Support her neck,” He reminds me, guiding my right hand to her head.  Her head and neck fit against my palm. 

 

Antonia doesn’t care who’s holding her, as long as someone is, and she wriggles a little then presses her face into my chest. 

 

She feels incredible.  So heavy and warm and perfect, and inexplicably my eyes fill.  How embarrassing.  Luckily, no one but Ben seems to notice.  He smiles at me, and I blink back the tears then glance at Toni’s mom and dad. 

 

Stella and Vecchio are watching me and Ben – who is still in my space, still holding his hand over mine where it rests behind the baby’s head.  When I look up, they look away and smile at each other.  Got a bad feeling we might all be friends one day. 

 

Antonia seems to like me.  Clearly, no one’s filled her in on the difference between boys and girls cos she’s sucking away on my shirt apparently expecting mommy and milk to be behind there somewhere. 

 

“Um, Stell, I think it’s mommy time.”  I tell her.  I don’t want to walk with the kid and somehow my Mountie senses that.  He scoops her out of my arms – leaving me with a nice wet patch over my left nipple – and takes her back to Stella.

 

Stella looks at us, a little blush on her cheeks, but obviously sees no threat in a gay Mountie and her ex-husband cos after a moment, she deftly unbuttons her blouse and positions Antonia for maximum suckling potential.  I meant what I said about a baby screwing up her perfect Armani lifestyle, but I gotta admit Stella looks good with a baby.  She looks right. 

 

“Kowalski.”  Vecchio has moved to the opposite wall of the room by the window and I don’t think it’s an accident that I can no way look at him and still be able to watch Stella.  She may not mind us seeing her breast-feed, but I think her husband really does. 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You coming to the christening?” 

 

I’m about to refuse, think up some excuse, it’s just automatic now, when Ben comes up close to me and gently squeezes my arm.  “Yeah, I’d … I’d like to, thanks.”

 

Vecchio nods, seeming satisfied.  “Saturday, 3PM at Saint Mary’s.  Then Ma’s having a do back home.  All the 2-7’ll be there.  Should be good.”

 

“Cool,” I suddenly get the urge to take a leap.  “We can make it my going away party, too.”

 

“Away?”  Stella and Vecchio ask together. 

 

“Yeah,” I hope like hell I’m not about to make a fool of myself.  “Fraser and me are leaving for Inuvik on Sunday.”

 

Vecchio gapes at me, while Ben starts to say “No, Ray, I told you, I can extend my …”  Then his brain obviously clicks and he realises what I said.  A smile spreads over his face.  An absolutely beautiful smile that lights up his face and makes his eyes sparkle.  I want to kiss him.  From the look on his face when our eyes meet, he wants that too, instead he steps behind me and wraps his arms round my waist.  Don’t think Vecchio can object to that too much. 

 

“You never mentioned that, Benny.”  Vecchio says looking over my shoulder at my Mountie. 

 

“No, the er, it wasn’t definite until very recently.”  He sounds like he’s grinning from ear to ear, and from the way he’s squeezing me he probably is.

 

“But what will you do up there, Ray?”  Stella asks.  She’s finished feeding now, and baby Antonia is fast asleep against her mommy’s neatly re-buttoned blouse. 

 

I shrug.  Or at least I give an impersonation of someone who would be shrugging if they didn’t have a five foot eleven Mountie fastened to their back.  “Something.  Anything.  I’ll find something. Maybe fix cars, teach dancing.  Might even cut down trees.  I’m not going up there for the employment prospects.”

 

My ex-wife looks from me to Ben, and back to me.  “No, I can see that.”  She says with a smile. 

 

 

 **  
_Epilogue: Canada.  Four years later._   
**

 

It’s dark when I get back to the cabin.  Considering it’s March that doesn’t mean much.  It could be early afternoon.  It’s not though.  It’s late.  It’s really late, and I’m cold, filthy and shattered.

 

Hank Murphy’s jeep broke down on the ice just outside of town.  The idiot had his wife and kids in the car but thought it’d still be a good plan to try to save time by driving over the river rather than going the longer – read: safer – way round. 

 

The ice was still pretty thick, thank God, but we had to get him off as quick as possible.  The town mechanic Alex Cole – who I say I work for and he says I work with – called me up to help.  Ben wanted to come too, but one of us had to hold the fort.  And anyway, it was a simple break-down recovery nothing needing RCMP coverage. 

 

Well, okay, not really all that simple.  Hank has never brought his jeep in for a service, which just proves _how_ stupid one guy can be.  So the engine was shot to pieces, and even after we’d towed them off the ice there was no way they’d be able to get home without some serious work.  We told them to hole up in the Inuvik B &B and we’d get it fixed by tomorrow afternoon, but oh no. Hank’s eldest daughter was alone back home and his wife Annie was frantic at the idea of leaving her to fend for herself over night. 

 

So me and Alex worked.  And worked.  And worked.  That car was a fucking mess, let me tell you.  But it’s fixed now, and the Murphy’s should get home in time to stop Carla blowing herself up, or freezing, or doing whatever the hell it is that Annie thinks a seventeen year old _could_ do to herself in her own home. 

 

Fuck, I’m tired.  I barely have the energy to push the door open.  When I do, I get hit with three things, one after the other.  The first is warmth, which believe me is a blessed relief.  The second is Dief who hurls himself at me, licks my face, gets a tongue-full of gasoline and retreats to his water bowl, offended.  The third is a four-year-old whirlwind of blondness dressed in red dungarees that jumps up into my arms chanting, “Uncle Ray!  Uncle Ray!” 

 

“Hey, brat.”  I say, trying not to get too much grease on her, but probably failing.  “Had a good day?”

 

“We saw a snow monster.”  She tells me, her eyes big.

 

“Did’ya?” 

 

“Uhuh.”  Vigorous nodding.  “He said ‘grr’.”

 

I burst out laughing.  “Sounds terrifying.” 

 

“It was Delmar.”  Ben says from somewhere.  I drag my attention away from the mini-Vecchio in my arms and look round the cabin. 

 

Ben is standing by the stove in the part of the cabin we’ve made a kitchen.  He’s stirring something in one of our massive saucepans, and whatever it is I want to eat it all.  Vecchio is sitting on the sofa, a book on his lap, watching me and his daughter with a grin.  Stella is nowhere to be seen, so I reckon she’s probably in the guest bedroom dealing with the two year old devil-child who someone swapped for their son David. 

 

“Well, Delmar is pretty scary.”  I admit. 

 

“He’s a _monster_.”  Toni – everyone calls her that now, I started a trend – assures me. 

 

“That is definitely one explanation for him.” I tell her, setting her down on the floor.  “You don’t wanna be touching me at the moment, honey.  I’m all mucky.”

 

She looks at me then down at her own clothes, which sure enough now have a few splatters of grease and mud on them and wrinkles her little nose.  “Yuck.”

 

“You said it.”  I put down my pack, peel off my outer layers and boots, leaving them stacked by the door to deal with later, then cross the cabin to the kitchen. 

 

“Hey,” I say to Ben, kissing the back of his neck, but not touching him ‘til I’m cleaner.

 

“Hi.” He turns around from whatever he’s cooking – smells like rabbit – and smiles at me.  “Did you get the Murphy’s sorted?”

 

“Yeah,” I pick up the soap, and start scrubbing over the sink.  “Got their jeep fixed.  Fat lot of good it’ll do ‘em.  That guy has a death wish when it comes to vehicles and machinery.” 

 

“Is Murphy the guy you had to go rescue last time we were up?”  Vecchio asks from the living room.  I know, there aren’t actually two rooms, just the work surface dividing the kitchen and lounge, but Ben and me still call ‘em separate. 

 

“Uhuh.  Last time it was his tractor though.  I think the guy has a mechanic-phobia or something.  He only calls us out when he’s got no choice.”

 

“I’m going to have a word with him,” Ben says, as he bends down to check on something in the oven.  Oh, thank you, stew and dumplings.  And possibly some sort of cake hidden at the back.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Hank Murphy.  I’m going to remind him that part of his duty as a citizen is to conduct his business in a way that does not endanger others.  Going around with faulty machinery is not only dangerous for himself; it could injure anyone.”

 

By which he means he doesn’t like me having to wander round on the frozen river to rescue the idiot.  And he doesn’t like me being stuck in town ‘til God knows what time and having to walk home in the dark and snow.  Ben still worries about me.  I wish he wouldn’t, but I can’t help feeling glowy when he does.  That thing with me in Chicago really scared him, more than he let on at the time.  He’s still trying to feed me up. 

 

I manage to get most of muck of me, go into our bedroom to pull on some fresh clothes, then go back into the living room, where Ben is standing by the sofa talking to Vecchio who has Toni asleep on his lap.  They look up when I come in, and I go over, wrap my arms round Ben and kiss his temple.  I want to kiss him properly, but I’ll make the concession for Vecchio, who really is doing pretty well at dealing with us now.  Helps that he’s normally thousands of miles away, but even when he’s here, he doesn’t usually do more than blink at a few PDAs. 

 

“Missed you.”  I whisper into Ben’s ear.

 

He pulls me into a tighter hug, “I missed you too.” He murmurs back. 

 

Vecchio makes gagging noises but we both ignore him.

 

“What did Delmar want?”  I ask.

 

“Oh,” I feel Ben smile against my cheek, then he pulls back a little and looks me in the eye, “Brace yourself.”

 

I feel my grin hitch up in response to Ben’s, but I don’t know what I’m grinning about.  “What?”

 

“Delmar came,” Ben says with great deliberation, so I know he’s a breath from laughing, “To invite us to his wedding.”  

 

I gape, I stare, then I explode.  Gripping Ben’s shoulder to stay upright, I start to howl with laughter.  “Oh … my…God.”  I pant eventually.  “Who the hell is he marrying?”

 

Ben’s eyes are sparkling, but he’s still trying not to laugh, “Do you remember your first meeting with Delmar, when he pulled us out of that crevasse?” 

 

Vecchio snorts; he likes that story.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do you remember how he told us of the stranded Argentine soccer team?”

 

“I remember that he said they were all eating each other … was that true?”

 

“Uh,” Ben scratches an eyebrow, “I can’t really say.  But it seems that after rescuing us, Delmar took it upon himself to lend them a hand as well.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“The aeroplane was not only carrying the team, but also their physiotherapist, a woman named Sophia, with whom Delmar has kept up a written correspondence and who will shortly be moving to Inuvik to be his wife.”

 

“Hang on.  _Delmar,_ ” I overemphasise just to make sure I’ve heard right.  He might have said Diefenbaker, even that would make more sense, “Is going to marry some hot little Argentinean physio?”

 

“It would appear so.”

 

“Wow.  The guys in town are gonna be jealous.  He’s gotta be the second luckiest guy in North America.”

 

I see him open his mouth to ask who the first is, before he suddenly blushes and looks at me with shining eyes.  He pulls me back into his arms, and this time I do get a kiss whether Vecchio likes it or not. 

 

Apparently Vecchio doesn’t particularly care, cos when we finally pull apart he’s reading his book not looking at all as if he minds two guys making out in front of him.  It’s possible I may have miss-judged the guy - maybe. 

 

The Vecchios are becoming pretty regular visitors these days.  Ben and I were both kinda wary when they first came up.  We’d got used to the privacy of living up here and the freedom to be in love without anybody caring.  People in Inuvik live and let live in a way that nobody does in Chicago.  They know Ben and I live together, they know we _live together_ but they don’t give a shit.  Long as we don’t start fucking on the high street, we can do as we like.  I think Stella had had a word – or twenty – with Vecchio cos he was pretty good, and by now it’s an almost annual trip.

 

We didn’t have a guest room when we first moved in, no real reason why we’d need one.  But that was before we went back to Chicago for Frannie’s wedding.  Now I don’t remember much of this – seven glasses of Ma Vecchio’s home-made punch will do that to you – but apparently I got quite nostalgic at being back for the first time in six months, and told everyone how much I loved them – including Dewey, yuck – and invited them all up to visit.

 

Thankfully, most of them ignored me, but quite a few actually took me up on it.

 

Welsh has been up twice in the summer mainly for fishing but also to nose around the RCMP station, see if Ben runs it as well as he runs his squad room.

 

Huey and Elaine came up together last spring – I have a feeling we’ll be down for another wedding pretty damn soon – I think just to check that Ben and I really _were_ together and it wasn’t just some massive rumour.

 

My mum and dad came two years ago, and will hopefully be back soon.  Dad doesn’t really like the Ben and me thing, but mum wants to see us.  I think they’re both starting to feel their age and don’t want to waste any more time being angry.

 

Frannie and Turnball are coming next year some time – the minute Frannie stops sprouting kids for long enough anyway.

 

So, we’re not exactly lonely, even up here. 

 

Not that I could ever be lonely, not really, not with Ben.  You, know, I thought it might be kinda tough adjusting to life in the north.  Don’t get me wrong; I _wanted_ to move.  Hell, the day we left Chicago for good I was up and bouncing off the walls before the sun was up.  Before _Ben_ was up.  I just thought it might be a little weird being in Canada, being Canadian (ish), living with someone full-time who wasn’t Stella. 

 

But it turned out the being in Canada thing is simple; you just don’t leave. 

 

The being Canadian thing is pretty much the same as being American, you just have to hold open doors every now and then, and remember to say thank you. 

 

And the living with Ben thing.  That is so much better that living with Stella ever was and on so many levels.  It just feels righter.  It turns out that with Stella I was always trying to please her.  Didn’t even know it, but I spent most minutes scared that she’d leave me, so I was always on edge, trying to be a good husband.  With Ben, I don’t need to try.  He loves me, and I don’t doubt it.  I still want to make him happy, but I believe that I do, which makes it a hell of a lot easier. 

 

Ben was worried too to begin with.  Not about us, but about me.  I still feel crap that I put him though that.  I feel doubly crap when I think that if he hadn’t phoned me when he did that day I might not be here today.  And well, to be brutally honest, that would suck.  But I am here, we’re here.  He wouldn’t let me push him away now even if I wanted to, which I don’t.  Well maybe only now and then like the time he went to the store, got distracted by a housefire and came back seven hours later stinking of smoke and burnt rubber, and carrying a fish tank… but I’ll always reel him back in again.

 

 _The End_


End file.
